Crossing The Line

by Catriona King

  “And?”

  “Thankfully a warder spotted the drugs and took them before the prisoners waiting for the delivery could.”

  It was something else for Davy to check out.

  Liam returned to a point made at the briefing. “Phones are bulky. SIMs are easier to conceal.”

  Royston nodded, relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Undoubtedly. But then a SIM’s usefulness depends on someone being obliging with their mobile handset, and prisoners tend only to oblige when there’s a profit in it for them, either in cash or kind.”

  Craig nodded in agreement. Prisons were like mini-marketplaces with each inmate trading to get what they wanted: cash, drugs or access to something, including sometimes sex.

  “What might Derek Smyth have possessed to barter with for the use of a phone?”

  Royston wrinkled his forehead, thinking. “Well, you found drugs in his cell and there are plenty of people in here who want those. Oblivion has its attractions when you can’t walk free.”

  Liam chuckled. “I don’t think Smyth bartered any of those tabs or we’d be looking at more than one dead inmate.”

  Royston’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but before he could ask more about a cause of death that they hadn’t pinned down yet Craig pressed his point.

  “Did Smyth have anything else valuable to trade?”

  The governor screwed up his face in distaste. “I’m not privy to all that goes on here, Superintendent, but flesh is always a commodity. Although I have to say that I’d never heard Derek Smyth linked with that particular activity.”

  He thought for a moment more and then shook his head.

  “No, I honestly can’t think of anything other than drugs that Smyth could have traded. And you saw the man, he was fit but he was barely five-foot-six, so without a weapon in his hand I doubt that he could have frightened someone into lending him their phone. To be honest, Smyth always struck me as a bit nondescript, as if he might have gone unnoticed in life in the world outside.”

  Just a quiet, unassuming, untroublesome man as Royston had described him. In Craig’s experience they were sometimes the most devious of all.

  He decided to bring up the switchblade they’d found at another time and turned to the topic of the World Wide Web.

  “So you have a computer room here?”

  Royston smiled, relieved by the change of topic. “Yes, of course. Many of the prisoners pursue qualifications to improve their employment prospects after release.”

  “With internet access?”

  The governor shook his head firmly, no hair touching this time to say that he was unsure of his ground.

  “Absolutely not. We’re well aware that we’re dealing with criminals, Superintendent, and what some of them would do if they got onto the Net. The only computers in the building with internet access are in this administration suite and it’s always either occupied or locked.”

  Which wasn’t to say that it hadn’t been entered by an inmate after hours. Breaking and entering was what had landed many of Mahon’s guests inside and some of them were even good at it.

  The governor started to wax lyrical about the computer course’s achievements.

  “We’ve had a number who’ve gone on to set up their own businesses when they’ve left us.” It sounded to Liam as if he was describing kids leaving school. “Web design and so forth.”

  The comment made Craig frown. “So they learn how to design websites here but they can’t access them once they’ve done so?”

  It seemed unlikely to him, and to his deputy judging by the sceptical look on his face. But Royston was adamant.

  “That’s correct. I must say some of the sites have looked very impressive when the tutor has demonstrated them to me up here. Only selling imaginary products of course, but effective nonetheless.”

  A sinking feeling in Craig’s stomach told him that there was something here to do with their case.

  “My analyst’s will need a list of all the websites designed during the term of Derek Smyth’s sentence, Governor.”

  Royston stared at him quizzically. “May I ask why? My understanding is that Smyth had only just started his computer course.”

  Which didn’t mean that someone in his little phone-a-friend group hadn’t been at it far longer.

  In lieu of an answer Royston received more demands.

  “And the membership lists for the metalwork and psychology classes, and Smyth’s drama group.”

  As the governor reached for a piece of paper and scribbled down the requests, Liam leant forward and added, “And don’t forget the lists of approved cellmates, the guards on the floor, and can you throw in the people involved in the drone drop, the name of the computer tutor and the two prisoners who got injured in the kitchen as well.”

  When he’d finished Craig changed topic slightly. “Tell me more about Nelson Brook and Smyth’s ‘cultural’ similarities. I take it you’re speaking about their community background?”

  Community background was the euphemism used in Northern Ireland to describe whether someone was a Protestant or a Catholic, and which one applied could sometimes be guessed from a person’s name.

  Royston’s reply of, “They were both Protestant Loyalists” said that Craig had guessed right this time.

  The D.C.S. nodded to his deputy that they were leaving and rose to his feet, but before he turned for the door he handed George Royston a written request that had nothing whatsoever to do with their case. The sight of Pete McElroy’s name on it made Liam’s eyebrows rise and the governor go to object, but the unyielding tone of Craig’s next words made him think better of it.

  “I’d like that piece of information emailed to me directly, Governor. Eyes only, please.”

  A brisk nod said that the detective would get what he asked.

  “And I’ll have that other information with you as soon as possible.”

  Then they could start eliminating suspects. It was gearing up to be a lot of work.

  ****

  The Lisburn Road, Belfast. 1 p.m.

  An hour after Aidan and the others entered the SOC offices they left again, with a lot more information on counterfeit medication, and something else as well. The tanned D.C.I. waited until they were back in the car and halfway to the labs to raise it.

  “Did anyone else think that D.I.’s reaction when I mentioned the Guv was a bit strange?”

  Andy corrected him. “Not until you actually said the name Craig. When you said ‘our Guv’, and, ‘the D.C.S.’ he didn’t blink, but when you said, ‘D.C.S. Craig’ he got all starry-eyed. What was that about do you think?”

  Ryan leaned forward from the back seat to offer an opinion. “The chief’s good, so maybe he was just impressed?”

  Aidan didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand but he was sceptical.

  “He’s talented, aye. Actually he should be an A.C.C. by now, but my bet is he’s turned it down to stay in Murder. But that wouldn’t be enough to cause that sort of reaction. The bloke was actually fan-boy-ing, like he knew him personally.”

  Or knew of him.

  Aidan was closer to the truth than he could have guessed.

  He decided on the dynamic approach to find out.

  “I’m going to ask him about it when I get time. Anyway, did either of you know that counterfeit meds were as rife as they are?”

  Andy shook his head. “Not a clue. Mind you, I had heard something about those fake diet pills from China that he mentioned. Shaped like Jessica Rabbit.”

  Ryan whistled, but it wasn’t in appreciation of the cartoon lady herself. “That’s a hell of a subliminal marketing ploy, isn’t it? Shaping a diet tablet in a look that women might aspire to.”

  Andy was surprised that he’d missed the link. “I never thought of that. Well spotted. Anyway, my ex-wife was always on a diet and she tried them. She said they nearly gave her a heart attack.”

  Ryan nodded knowingly. “That’ll have been Diethylpropion. It’s in the amphetamine cl
ass.”

  Andy’s eyes became saucers. “Oh my God, she was taking speed! That’s why she started talking so fast.”

  Aidan was more interested in something else. “Which ex-wife was that then, Andy? Number one or number two? I lose count.”

  The much-married D.C.I. rolled his eyes. “Oh, very witty. Well, at least mine made it up the aisle with me. I’ve lost count of how many girlfriends have dumped you.”

  Ryan clicked his fingers together hard, generating a respectable snap. “Burn. That’s one each.”

  Aidan glanced back at him. “Careful now or we’ll find something about you to even the score.”

  The sergeant’s response was to point out the window at a sign saying ‘Science Park’.

  “Too late. We’re here.” He hopped out of the car as soon as it was parked. “Anyway, I’ve been seeing the same person for a year now, so I could never keep up with you two.”

  Aidan nodded, recalling. “It’s that doctor you met during the Drake case, isn’t it? Medics and the police again. How come there are so many hook-ups there?”

  GP Sarah Reilly had almost been one of Rowan Drake’s victims; Drake had kidnapped her intending to kill her, and Ryan had been one of the police team that had saved her life.

  Andy had walked on ahead but his answer floated back to them. “That’s easy. People are inherently lazy so they don’t look much further than the end of their noses for a partner. We can only date who we meet, and as we spend most of our lives at work that means we either meet people on cases or in the staff canteen. That’s why doctors, lawyers and police marry each other.”

  He gestured back at Aidan. “I mean look at you – you’re never out of the gym and your last two girlfriends have come from there.”

  As he held the pathology building’s front door open and ushered the others through, Aidan seized the opportunity to make a dig.

  “Well, you’re stuffed then, mate. All you do is work and go to the movies, so unless you can meet women in the dark...”

  He was surprised to see Andy smile mysteriously.

  “OK, give.”

  The artistic D.C.I. waited until they were inside before answering. “I’m going to a Hand in Glove party this weekend.”

  Ryan perked up. He’d never heard of one and he liked learning new things.

  “What’s that?”

  His answer was going to have to wait until later because John Winter had appeared at his office door.

  ****

  The C.C.U. Murder Squad.

  Annette wasn’t really surprised when she noticed it, in fact she was surprised that it had taken Mary so long, given that Nicky hadn’t been one hundred percent present mentally for months even when she had been in the office, and her limited energy had been used up on work and not scanning team members for infringements in the way that she would normally have done. In her case, unlike Alice’s, it was to catch them before anyone fell foul of HR.

  Craig had also been preoccupied, and although Annette was pretty sure that it had been with work as well there was something else up there too, she knew it; his office door was closed far more frequently than in the past and his phone calls often ended abruptly if anyone walked in. She was pretty sure that they’d find out what that was about soon, judging by the increased number of calls and meetings just before he’d gone on holiday, and that was fine with her. What wasn’t fine were the liberties being taken by the squad’s most junior staff member, in an openly defiant ‘when the two cats are away the mouse will play’ approach.

  The D.I. sighed heavily to herself and allowed her gaze to linger on the woman in question, wondering why she seemed destined to be everyone’s office mum. She had three kids of her own at home to think about, so the last thing she needed was another one at work stroppier than all of them put together. Why did people have to push their luck? Why couldn’t they just behave like professionals and do their bloody jobs; was that too much to expect?

  She heard her own thoughts and shook her head to put a stop to them. She was whining, and even if no-one else could hear it, it was making her feel bad. Time for action. She stood up and walked over to Mary’s desk.

  “Come into the Chief’s office with me for a moment, please, Mary.”

  Without waiting for a reply the D.I. walked past Alice and opened the door of Craig’s room, so by the time Mary had risen from her chair Ash was on alert.

  He popped his head up above his PC like a Meerkat to watch for a moment and then hissed across the squad-room to his boss.

  “Psst. Davy. Look.”

  The senior analyst looked up from his work to see Annette wearing a pissed-off expression and holding Craig’s door open for their most junior member of staff.

  “Mary’s obviously done s...something wrong again.”

  The constable’s substantial history of verbal and physical transgressions, in the form of non-regulation piercings that Craig had had to order her to remove, made it a fair bet.

  “But even if she has it’s none of our business, Ash. The police sort out their own.”

  The junior analyst was only slightly deterred. “Aren’t you interested in what it is then?”

  Davy focused his gaze back on his keyboard and shook his pony-tailed head. “I already know.”

  His junior sat up even straighter. “Well, tell me then!”

  “You should be bright enough to suss it out for yourself.”

  Davy glanced up from his work again, this time to stare pointedly at his subordinate’s desk.

  “Have you finished the background and associate checks on Smyth and Royston yet?”

  “Have you finished looking at the prison guards?”

  It was a cheekiness that came from having been friends since their teens. Ash’s intimate knowledge of his boss’ youthful indiscretions and memory like an elephant sometimes made it a challenge for Davy to keep him in order, but he was doing his best.

  “I have actually. Thanks.”

  He glanced at his computer clock: one-thirty.

  “OK, you’ve got thirty minutes to finish up then I want us to map everything on s...slides for the briefing. The chief’s just called it for four. I’m going to chase the SIM’s calls now.”

  Ash raised his eyebrows. “When did Des send it across?”

  “I don’t have the actual thing yet, just the number, but I want us to get everything that we can out of the way.”

  He turned his body away to signify that the discussion was over, coincidentally at the same time as Mary was doing the same thing inside Craig’s office but with far less effect, the impact of an action inevitably varying depending on whether you’re the junior or senior party in an exchange.

  Mary being the junior, her turn away merely came across as petulant and childish and made Annette rev her lecture up a gear.

  “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Constable!”

  It took the D.C. aback slightly, but only slightly, Mary having a hide almost as thick as Liam’s rhinoceros one. She glared openly at her senior officer, still standing despite Annette’s earlier request to sit.

  “OK, I’m looking. So now what?”

  The taunting insubordination propelled Annette to her feet so fast that Mary staggered back for fear she was about to be head-butted. Ridiculous and unfounded of course, Annette valued her own head far too much to endanger it by bashing anyone, but a natural enough response in a split second and enough to cause the constable to fall back into a chair, leaving Annette looming over her.

  “How dare you speak to a senior officer that way! If you ever do it again you’ll be reported to HR. Do you understand?”

  Less through intimidation than for the sake of peace, Mary gave a nod only just on the right side of insolence, but it was enough to let Annette move on.

  “Since Nicky’s been away I’ve watched you pushing the limits again. Wearing ankle bracelets, replacing your piercings and nose stud; all things you were told were against regulations when you were meeting the public
and which the D.C.S. and HR have warned you about several times.”

  She made an irritated gesture at the sulky D.C. “And now today you come in with all that and more. Piercings higher in your ears than ever before, and now those nails.”

  She stared pointedly at the three-inch gel extensions embedded with rhinestones that adorned every finger on both of Mary’s hands.

  “I know your sort, Mary. You bank on the fact that most of the men here won’t want to comment on your appearance in case they’re accused of sexism, and with Nicky away you think you can play yourself. Well, I’m not intimidated by you, and I’m not going to fall for your tricks, so I want you to remove every single piercing here and now.”

  The D.I. took a small packet of tissues from her pocket and spread one out on the desk. “Now. Every piece of visible jewellery.”

  Annette folded her arms and waited, ignoring the five minute huff, the three minute tirade and the repeated walking to the door and back again, until eventually one by one every piece of jewellery was removed, wrapped in the hanky and gripped tightly in Mary’s hand.

  “Good. And tomorrow I expect you to be wearing something, either clothes or masking cream, that covers those tattoos as per regulation, and I want those nail extensions gone. And if you try any of this again then I’ll march you down to HR myself before the end of the day. This isn’t a glamour parade, Mary, and if that’s what you want in a job then you might need to consider whether you’re in the right place.” She pointed sharply to the exit. “Now go back to your desk.”

  As the door slammed behind the furiously sulking constable Annette fell back into Craig’s chair and swivelled it to face the river, mentally retreating to her happy place, a world where she could eat ice-cream and chocolate all day long and never gain a pound.

  She really had enough on her plate without having to deal with Mary’s nonsense. Discussing Mahon at the briefing, knowing that it was where Pete was being held, had upset her. Slightly unexpectedly considering that she’d moved on with her life and was happy in a new relationship, but then you can’t spend twenty years loving someone and expect to feel nothing at all for them, no matter what they’ve done. She just hoped that Craig wouldn’t ask her to go to the prison; that would be too hard. Pete blamed her for locking him away and there was still part of her that was afraid of her ex-husband’s violent streak, even though he was safely behind bars.